Is Life Worth It?
by OprahGirl
Summary: Grimmjow constantly goes to clubs and takes a new person home every time. Then he finds Ichigo and slowly, he changes. Wow, crappy summary. Major GrimmIchi.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or its characters. :( Otherwise Grimmjow would still be in the story and the whole thing would turn into a GrimmIchi fest.**

**Warnings: M for some smut and language and a teensy bit of gore.**

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><p>I'd get high off of it.<p>

Fighting. Drinking. Fucking.

Meeting random strangers in clubs and going back to their places.

I'd never stay overnight. I'd always fuck whoever it was, take a shower, and leave. Most of the time I wouldn't even bother to say goodbye. I'd never see them again, so why make a big deal out of it, anyway?

And one or two nights later, I'd go back to the club, let the pulsating music vibrate my core as I drank whatever drink I'd ordered, not-quite stagger over to the dance floor, grind against someone else, and it'd all start over again.

It was almost tiring, how often it happened. But I'd still to go to high school the next day for some reason I couldn't understand and half-assedly learn whatever shit they were lecturing on that day.

I'm actually smart, believe it or not. I just don't want to waste my energy on something I'd never need again. I can still ace the regular classes and get passing grades in the AP and Honors classes that I was talked into doing by my counselor.

Well. I wasn't talked into doing it. It's just that I couldn't give a shit either way.

Life went on.

More bass thudding in my ears, more beer, more fighting off those assholes who didn't understand why my hair was blue, kicking their asses, more of fucking guys (or girls) into their beds, turning their skin raw and making them scream.

I never bothered to remember their names.

And one day as I meandered through the hallway of Karakura High, I saw him. A flash of orange hair, the color vibrantly standing out against the dull colors of the uniform that I never bothered to wear. There was a hand near the orange color, seemingly attached to the owner of the orange hair. It closed the locker that it was holding.

The orange color turned towards me, and I saw a pair of brown eyes, mildly challenging my intrigued stare.

I cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

He tilted his head to the side, baring more of his neck to me as if to say he was better than me, and turned and walked away.

I looked at the locker that he had just left. Number 615.

I've never forgotten that number.

I looked at the clock: 2:40. It was five minutes after the bell had dismissed the school.

I'd come here tomorrow.

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I went to the club again. I let the music infiltrate my senses and closed my eyes for a moment, allowing the beat to rock me. I opened them to half-mast and noticed an orange-haired person on the dance floor. I opened my eyes all the way before realizing it was a chick.

Whatever. Bitch or fag, I didn't care. She had caught my eye; now she wouldn't get away.

I walked to where she was, hands in my pockets with what I knew to be a sultry expression on my face. She didn't see me, though. She was facing the other way. So I came up from behind and started grinding. She hardly reacted – I could tell she got this often. She grinded back and raised her hands above her head, turning partially to see who was behind her, a small smirk on her face.

Whore.

We went to her place and I didn't bother with formalities. I stripped her the moment we set foot over the threshold.

I made her scream for me. I came all over her, reveling in my dominance.

And then I left, just like usual.

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The school bell rang and class was over.

I went in the direction of locker number 615. I saw the same flash of orange hair.

Or maybe I just imagined it.

I walked home. Had to fight some pussies who were irritated over my hair again. And I went on my way.

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There was second batch of idiot gangsters on the way to my place.

This time, I was just annoyed. I didn't want to spend all my free time fighting.

After a couple of minutes, three of them were down, and the fourth's face was being ground into the asphalt by my hand, and I had the urge to just drag his face along and tear it up. So I started to do it.

But that was when I realized the guy had a knife in his pocket. Meaning the others would probably have weapons, too.

I turned around just as the last guy standing drove a knife into my arm. The metal scraped bone and tore into my flesh, creating a huge gaping wound.

Fuck, it hurt.

My right arm was bleeding profusely and was now too injured to be of any use. Shit. That was my dominant arm.

I kicked my leg out from my crouched position, trying to trip up the guy, but he skipped away, the little fucker that he was. I growled and let go of the guy's face below me.

My eyes darted over to the guy standing, his black hair glinting in the setting sun. His hand had started to move to his back pocket. He was hiding something.

My glare glued to his hand and I saw the gun with perfect clarity.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I wasn't in shape to be fighting against a guy with a gun.

I stood up before whipping around and kicked the guy behind me with a huge force driving it, and I heard his ribs crack. There. Now I had to just deal with Blackie over there.

But I was getting dizzy. My arm was still pouring out blood from the gash that that guy inflicted, and the walls were just beginning to tilt around me. I staggered forward and my eyes threatened to close, but I forced them open, a growl coming out from deep within me.

I looked up to Blackie, saw the gun pointed straight at my head. This wasn't looking good.

Everything was warping and twisting around me but I had to find somewhere to take cover or to fight him with. The other guys were unconscious, but they were too far for me to reach them before I was shot.

Screw it all.

I lunged forward at the guy in hopes of throwing him off and I saw his finger starting to pull the trigger and suddenly I saw a flash of orange and the guy's finger was broken and the gun seemed to have been kicked away and I vaguely heard some cursing, a sickening crunch but my mind wouldn't take in any more information.

I passed out.

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When I came to, I couldn't figure out where I was or why the wall was covered in fruit. My first thought was that I'd slept with some freak that had a weird obsession and for some reason or other I didn't leave immediately after fucking them to pieces.

And then I felt it. A slow burning in my right arm that picked up pace and soon it was on fire, the flames mercilessly licking my wound. I looked down and realized I couldn't even see how bad I was cut, because there were bandages.

I tried to get up but my arm was still useless and I was dead tired. I sensed a movement to my left and I tensed, ready to fight.

But it was Orange.

Wait.

What the hell? Why was he here?

This was the first time I'd seen him up close. I'd only had multiple fleeting glimpses, day after day.

His eyes were a deep chocolate and his hair was really, really bright. He had this concerned expression on his face.

"Relax," is the first word I ever heard him spoke. It was fairly deep and fit him perfectly.

"The hell I will," I grunted as I forced my body to stand. Everything spun for a second but it settled down. My arm dangled at my side.

"No – really, you're going to overdo it." His voice was slightly panicked and he stepped in my way.

"Look, kid, just let me go. The fuck do you care, anyway?" I bared my teeth at him as I walked around him.

"Ichigo." I heard the word coming from behind me. It carried a sort of pouting, stubborn sound to it.

"Huh?" I looked over my shoulder at him.

"Not kid. Ichigo."

"Heh. 'M Grimmjow." I looked back to my front and managed to find the front door. The kid was still following me. "See ya, Strawberry. Nice knowin' ya."

I walked out.

I didn't leave my house for the next week.

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When I went back to the thumping music, I could move my arm. I drank a couple of beers again while letting my eyes scan the horde of people.

I found another chick with orangeish hair.

We left for her place an hour later.

It was retarded, really. As I was pounding her into the mattress, all I could see was her hair. And the image of that kid kept popping up. Irritated the hell out of me.

But when she climaxed – "Mmmm, Grimmjow!" All I could see was the image of the kid writhing beneath me. And when I came inside of her, all I could see was the smooth expanse of the kid's body.

I left her house, unsatisfied.

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I ran into the kid more and more often at school. Started taking a liking to calling him Strawberry.

The first time I called him that, he was annoyed. But eventually, he got used to it, because there was no way in hell I'd start calling him something else just because he asked me to.

I also took a liking to finding out ways to tease him. My daily doses of amusement stemmed from those moments.

And one day, after school had finished, we were pretty much alone in the hallway, standing next to locker number 615.

We were half-assedly arguing over something, like every other day. I can't remember what it was. He said something, and in response, I slammed my palms on both sides of his face, and said, "Whatcha gonna do about it, Strawberry?" Accompanied by my signature smirk, of course.

My face was closer than usual, just by a few inches. But that means it was also only so far from the kid's face. I laughed once I realized his cheeks were dusted by pink.

I wasn't expecting it to happen when I looked back at him, amusement still turning up the corner of my mouth. His eyes averted, he leaned forward and kissed me.

He slipped out of my grasp and left.

I turned around and let my back rest on his locker. I don't know how long I was standing there.

I just know that that was when something changed.

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I went to the club that night.

Fished out another redhead.

This time, it was a guy.

I had a harder time getting the kid out of my head.

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When I saw him at school again, he was a little shyer than usual. But soon he snapped out of it and turned back into his cocky, normal self.

Good. I was more comfortable with that.

He asked about my arm, which had healed at least a couple of months ago.

Just making sure, I guess. He did that a lot.

We walked to his place.

Turns out, he lived only a half a mile or so away from me. I hadn't realized that the first time I was at his place.

I walked home alone after he went inside. Fought some more idiots.

That night, I actually did homework.

I didn't go out.

But I did the next night.

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Time was beginning to blur. It was getting harder to keep track of which nights I went out and got shitfaced and fucked some new orange-haired whore.

I just remember the days getting brighter and brighter. My world began to spin around a certain sun.

Strawberry and I met more and more often – before, during and after school, at the park, and at his place, and even occasionally mine.

Ichigo was the first person to see my real smile.

I wonder if he knew that?

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A couple of weeks later – maybe it was more, maybe it was less, I went to the club again.

There weren't any orange heads in the crowd.

So I went home.

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Things between us are a little different now, ever since the day that he kissed me.

It was just in the moment. It didn't mean anything.

That's what I keep telling myself.

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I was the club, letting my body sway to the beat.

Sometimes I wore a beanie so people who are unoccupied without someone grinding against them don't notice me. Today is one of those days.

I just wanna snag a bitch and get out of there, try to lose myself in the pleasure and to the images that my mind conjures up.

I don't fight those images so much anymore. I let them overtake me.

There – I found my victim for tonight. Seems like a male today.

Of course, he had orange hair. He wasn't looking my way, which is fine by me.

In the way that I usually do, I came up from behind and without preamble, just started grinding. I put my hands around his waist to let him know it wasn't a woman he was dealing with here.

He seemed too lost in the music to care if I had a pussy or not.

It's odd. Usually, my victim would at least turn around to see who I am, but this kid seemed content with not knowing. We danced in harmony for at least half an hour. Or it could have been an hour. I'm not sure.

Finally, he turned around to face me; with a shock, I realized it was Strawberry.

Holy shit. When did he start coming here?

I wondered if I should slip away or if I should convince him to take me home with him, or perhaps go to my place, because his family was probably home.

I decided to take him with me.

I wasn't sober. And maybe the kid was, or maybe he wasn't. Either way, we kept grinding, and I got real hard. I'm sure he noticed. My hot breath fanned across his neck.

By the time he turned around, he was panting and his eyes were half-closed. He was also hard by then.

I took him to my place.

I fucked him, hard and deep, making sure to hit his pleasure spot over and over again until he couldn't take it anymore, and then I slowed down, reveling in the power I held over him at that moment. I waited to hear him beg for release before hitting his prostate mercilessly once again and pumping his length. He screamed my name, "Fuck, Grimmjow!" and this time I didn't have to imagine it was him.

My eyes trained on his face as I felt him spasm around me and I released deep inside of him, growling out his name.

My adrenaline was rushing through my veins and I didn't feel drunk at all anymore. I just felt a pure, blissful high.

I pulled out of him and flopped down beside him on my bed – yes, my bed. Not some stranger's.

An incredible pull of exhaustion came over me and I didn't get up to shower, as per usual. But I didn't care too much. I inhaled the strong scent of sex and of the Strawberry.

And suddenly, a revelation came over me. I realized I enjoyed life. Perhaps even loved it. It was what brought me together with this kid, let me smile. Let me have these moments of content.

I looked over at his chest, rising and falling, then at his long eyelashes covering those chocolate eyes, and fell asleep.

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I woke up to an odd feeling of something being buried in the crook of my neck. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, just… strange.

I opened my eyes and was suddenly aware of a naked body draped over mine, and I momentarily panicked, thinking I broke my rule of leaving the house after a fucking. And then I remembered, and relaxed.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

The kid moaned into my neck, sending sweet vibrations coursing through me that caused my dick to twitch.

Hmmm. I was kind of sticky and it was beginning to be uncomfortable, so I decided to take a shower.

It took me a couple of minutes, but I managed to peel the kid's weight off of me without waking him and I slipped away, ready for the hot water to rinse away the stickiness.

I was just about to step into the shower when I sensed him behind me. I turned around.

"Yeah?"

"Morning to you, too." And then he looked away, choosing to ignore the naked body in front of him.

"So whaddya want? Water's gonna get cold."

Brief silence. And then, "Can I take it with you?"

"The shower?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah."

Well, that was awkward. "Yeah, what the hell." It would take less water, after all. And I wasn't rich, seeing as I spent quite a bit on beer and other drinks and clubbing and whatever.

"Okay."

So I stepped in and opened the curtains more, now with a smirk on my face. Well, that was unexpected.

Nothing interesting happened. Which was interesting in and of itself. Strawberry was blushing a lot (or maybe the steaming water just made his skin flushed). The whole thing didn't take very long and I tossed him a snow white towel after we got out.

"Thanks," He mumbled.

I let him borrow a shirt and pair of shorts so he didn't have to wear the sweaty mess he was wearing the night before. It crossed my mind that maybe his family would wonder why he was wearing someone else's clothes, but I didn't care too much anyway.

He made his way over to the front door after getting dressed. He turned to look at me. "So… see you Monday, I guess."

"Yeah. 7:15, usual spot, don't be late or I'll kick your ass." Telling him that last night wouldn't change our relationship too much. I smirked at him.

"Look who's talking. You're the one who'll probably be late, not me." Ichigo laughed. "See ya."

He left.

I shut the door behind him.

I sank onto my couch in confusion.

What now?

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry, I meant this to be a oneshot, but I seem to be incapable of doing so. This whole thing started as me knowing how it'll end... but nothing in the middle. And so, I wrote way too much. I don't know when I'll be able to get around to writing the second chapter, or how long this will be, or when I'll be inspired to write again. I was inspired by Twisted Badger's "I don't love you." TTATT It made me cry like a baby. Go read it, it's good.**

**And holy crap, editing documents on here is a pain in the ass. I've been editing this thing for over 10 minutes just to get my separator bars in there.**


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